Page 29 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“Drinks?” I ask Beau, bumping my shoulder against his.

I always go out with the guys after a win, and after most losses too, but he’s a lot more hit and miss. It never feels the same when Beau isn’t there, like the victory just isn’t as satisfying without my best friend sitting on the bar stool next to me.

“Yeah, I’ll come out for a few,” he says, and we stare at each other for a few long seconds, like neither of us can make ourselves be the one to look away first.

My stomach flutters and my eyes drop to his lips unintentionally. I’m sure I was just imagining things last night and Beau wasn’t thinking about kissing me, but if he was… what would it feel like? He’s got that scraggly beard that would make it impossible to pretend on any level that I was kissing a woman, but he’s also got those strong hands and soft-looking full lips. I swallow hard and jerk my gaze away from his mouth.

I can’t kiss Beau. We’re best friends. We’re straight. Straight guys don’t kiss each other… At least I don’t think they do. Girls, sure, they can get away with that kind of stuff, but not guys. It’s kind of unfair when you think about it that way. Why should girls be allowed to kiss their friends when they’re feeling drunk and silly, but if I do it…

I shake my head again.

No, I can’t kiss Beau.

FIFTEEN

BEAU

We walk into Replay to cheers from the crowd. Our fans are always there for us, win or lose, but they’re especially pumped up after a win.

The drinks flow freely, with several customers buying us pitchers of beer, and Trav is holding court like he always does, surrounded by players and fans alike, rehashing some of our best plays tonight. I hang back, listening, admiring his boldness and extrovert ways. Sometimes I wish I were as comfortable in front of people as he is, but it’s not how I’m built.

“Bozy!” Harlson throws his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. “Awesome moves tonight.”

“You too, bud.”

“Do a shot with me?”

“Uh no. You know I don’t do shots.”

“Oh come on.” He pouts. “One little shot won’t kill you.” He looks past me. “Show, come get your man. We’re doing shots.”

His man?

Travis laughs, waving off some fans he was talking to and joining us at the table. “What’s going on?”

“I want Bozy to do a shot with me,” Harlson says. “He’ll do one if you do.”

“What are we, twelve?” I grunt.

“No, Bozy. Twelve-year-olds can’t do shots,” Harlson says seriously. “Just one? We earned it.”

My eyes move to Trav, who nods with a soft smile. “Just one.”

“Yeah, okay.” I sigh. “Just one.”

“Sweet!” Harlson hurries over to the bar like an excited kid.

Trav chuckles, bumping his arm against mine. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

“No problem.”

Harlson returns a few minutes later with a tray of tequila shots. I take mine but can’t seem to pull my eyes away from my best friend as he licks his hand and sprinkles salt on it before licking it again, slamming back the liquor, and sucking a lime wedge into his mouth.

He shudders then blows out a breath. “Damn. Your turn, Bozy.”

I throw mine back quickly then suck on the lime too, my gaze tangled with Trav’s. He grins at me, his lips parting, but he’s interrupted by a group of women who grab his arm to get his attention.

One in particular, a pretty brunette with hazel eyes and full lips, practically glues herself to Trav. She’s very obviously flirting with him. I try to ignore it, but something about her annoys me. Maybe it’s the way she’s monopolizing his attention or how she’s being so obvious, but I don’t like it.